Ele of Arda
by WindyWords123
Summary: A new take on "Harry the Elfling" - A one year old Harry is flung into Middle Earth by the explosion on Halloween, and the Valar take him in. But no one can dodge fate for long. Eventually, Harry returns, and struggles to accept his new destiny in this strange new world, longing only to return to the world he knew so well.
1. Introduction

_This is not a serious story. I know almost nothing about the Valar, and really not that much about Middle Earth in general, and most of this is just... meant to be a little bit self indulgent and cliche. So I'm gonna skim the parts I don't know too much about, which will be... a lot. I just wanted to write an Elfling!Harry story where Harry was an elfling before he came to Hogwarts, rather than after. But if there's anything egregious I should fix, feel free to tell me. Spots that I'm basically guessing at and are probably terribly wrong are marked by a *. Sorry._

_Part of this is old, and I'm not sure where I got a lot of the Elvish names from. I believe I made a couple of them up wholesale, so they may or may not be meaningless. Other notes: I initially planned that Harry would land during the crisis of the Ring and such, but didn't like how that was working when I made the beginning more plausible, so I changed it. But I kept a lot of the writing, so if something seems not quite right, that's probably why._

_Oh: and on elf aging? I'm, again, uncertain if this matches any of the canon at all, but I decided that elves age four times slower than humans. *Note: I changed this back from 62 years because that made it seem inappropriate that Harry was still a kid. _

* * *

His mother fell to the floor. Harry glared hatefully at the man with the red eyes. He made his mother fall down, and he was mean, and Harry _wanted him to go away_ more than he'd ever wanted anything else in his young life. He had made Mummy make a mean noise and he was mean and Harry didn't like him and he shouldn't be here._  
_

Voldemort, meanwhile, smirked down at the child they said would be his undoing and lazily cast, "_Avada Kedavra_." Not such a threat after all. The prophecy, clearly, was only a fakery by a half-baked seer who didn't know what she was saying. Soon, he would truly be invincible; he would seize Great Britain and then the rest of the world. He was unkillable!

The spells, one invisible and chaotic, and the other an evil, focused green, met in midair and ricocheted. The air pulsed with the magic of Lily's sacrifice. At exactly the same moment, the two spells hit their castors and the world lit up.

Harry's desire for the bad man to _go away_ and Lily's desperation that her son be safe gave the resulting pulse of magic energy and direction; the momentary gap in the world as Voldemort's soul soared into the space between life and death gave it a place to go. With a roar reminiscent of a jet engine and a flash brighter than the sun, Harry Potter, bawling and bleeding, disappeared.

~_!_*_!_~

A strange child sat outside the gates of the world, crying. The Valar gathered, uncertain and confused.

They could read his fate clearly; he was a child of destiny, meant for great and terrible deeds in his own world. They would not meddle in the fates of other worlds: for all their power within Arda, the Valar did not like to step outside their realm. Harry Potter's place was far away from Middle Earth.

And yet the Valar were not unkind, and the boy was right outside their gates. Besides the difficulty of sending him back at all, surely, if that Earth's fate had relied so much upon the boy, he would have remained. Surely they could give him the peace and comfort of Middle Earth for a little while, since fate, though it could never be stopped, might often be delayed.

And so the Valar took the boy in and made him one of their own. He would have a chance to be a happy child in Greenwood, a chance his original world would have denied him. He would live in Arda until Fate called to him once more.

~_!_!_!_~

Wizards were celebrating in pubs all over Britain; owls filled the skies and strange revelers the streets. Albus Dumbledore had not joined them. He remained in his office, staring with focused intent on a strange, spinning device.

Wizards and witches the world over were gossiping about Harry Potter's disappearance and toasting the family's sacrifice. Already, decorative products were emblazoned with The-Boy-Who-Disappeared, and most assumed he had died: vaporized, perhaps, or zapped into nonexistence.

Albus Dumbledore had not joined the gossipers, either.

The strange device creakily and unsteadily made a slow revolution, as it had every five minutes since Harry had disappeared.

Harry Potter was out there somewhere. Harry Potter had survived.


	2. Chapter 2

When they find the child, all are confused. Elflings are as rare as snow in midsummer, and messengers are sent to other cities. But no cities report a missing child, and no colonies report a missing elf. All seems right in Middle Earth, and yet one unexplained child with emerald green eyes and strangely unruly black hair says otherwise.

The Greenwood elves, as one, take care of the strange babe, and in time he gravitates to the Prince, Alsaril Séregon. By the anniversary of his strange appearance, he has been named Elesil. He is cherished by all as a gift from the Valar, and many are the theories surrounding his appearance and his strange scar.

By his twenty fourth year, Alsaril adopts the strange elfling as his own, though he is still cherished by all elves alike.

It is twenty years again, when Ele has just begun to grow into his adult features, that, in the middle of playing with Laranë, Elesil disappears. Laranë is the child of Larachiel and Saralinde, and she is his dearest friend. She is only seven years older than him and one of few elflings in Greenwood. She runs to tell her parents, who in turn tell the prince.

Alsaril is distraught, and all of Greenwood scour the forest for the elfling, but he is gone. Harry Potter has gone to meet his fate. Elesil is but a memory.

~-!-~

Ele awakes in a strange sort of daze. " Laranë?" He murmurs, for the last thing he remembers is playing hide and seek with her, having found a particularly hidden spot high in a tree. He does not see her anywhere in this strange place, though, although his sight seems blurred and weak, as if he has opened his eyes underwater. He seems to be outside, but there are buildings everywhere, and the ground is hard, like a very uneven floor. All seems much too loud, and yet the sound has a muffled quality, as if it should be even louder. There are men in very strange, bright colors everywhere, and no one seems to pay him any mind. Had he fallen out of the tree, and was now dreaming?

"Excuse me?" He asks, politely, tugging on the strange clothes of a nearby man, but the man merely looks as him for a moment before passing on. Ele frowns. He watches the passerby closely, and notices that they are speaking in a strange, harsh tongue he has never heard before. He knows Sindarin, Westron, and Quenyan well, and he is at least acquainted with many of the other languages of men and even Khuzdal and Entish, but this seems entirely new. Perhaps that is why the man passed on so quickly. He tries Westron on another man, Quenyan on the next, and, with increasing desperation, what little he knows of the other languages, but none work.

He must look as lost as he feels, for finally one of the men approaches him, sounding concerned. He shrugs helplessly, unable to understand him. Upon looking closer, however, this man may be a women – Ele has never truly ventured out of Greenwood, as he is an elfling still, and few men come even in this time of peace. He remembers well those few who have visited, but these are dressed differently from any he has known, and very similarly to one another. Both men and women seem to wear dresses, and many wear the pointy hats Gandalf the wizard sometimes wears when he comes to visit.

She takes him by the arm, and suddenly Ele realizes another problem with this strange situation. Though he is an elfling, he knows he is, by now, almost as tall as most men, yet these ones tower over him. He looks more closely, hoping that perhaps he is wrong and he has simply landed in the company of elves and did not notice, but their ears are not pointed. These are, truly, men of a different character. Ele pays little attention to the woman's talk until she faces him.

"Tonks." She says, pointing to herself. And then another strange word in her language, pointing to him.

"Elesil Séregon of Mirkwood." He says, pointing to himself as well.

"_Hallo, Elesil Séregon of Mirkwood._" Her pronunciation is not good, and Ele grimaces.

"Mae govannen, Tonks." He says quietly, and then attempts the word he assumes to be a greeting. "H-hallo?"

Tonks says something in her language, too quickly to be understood, and smiles at him. Ele stares at her helplessly. She repeats it again, but this time much more slowly. He shakes his head. He does not recognize the language at all; speaking slowly will not help.

She takes a hold of his wrist and practically drags him into one of the strange, very square building that line the area. Alarmed, Ele can do little but follow.

~-!-~

The inside of the area is full of books. Ele is amazed; he has not known many men who can read at all, and this one building contains almost as many books as their own library. He begins to revise his opinion of the land in which he has found himself. Perhaps it is not so bad as all that –

Tonks pulls out a book, and begins to page through it. But Ele is stricken by the first page, because he is certain he saw the picture of a man _move_ his mouth.

Stricken, he cries out. What magician would make such a strange enchantment? He is certain many could, if they wished to, but why would they waste magic on such a trivial task? Tonks faces him suddenly, her face concerned. Ele shakes his head minutely. There is something very strange going on here, and he wishes his Ada was here. Ada is always calm and collected, and perhaps he would recognize this strange tongue and then he could talk to –

Tonk's hair has changed color.

Before, it was a perfectly normal brown, but now it is _pink_, of all colors, as vivid as the prettiest flower. Ele cries out again, staring at her in horror. Clearly something is very, very wrong here. Hair is not meant to be pink, and it is especially not meant to _change_, and pictures are not supposed to move and men are not supposed to have libraries and _he _is meant to be home, playing hide and seek with Laranë, not here in this strange place with its strange people.

Tonks pulls out a stick, her face concerned – and here, again, this is strange and not right, for what use could this flimsy twig possibly have? She pages more rapidly through her book, and finally she seems to find what she is looking for. Ele does not move, but this is only because he does not know where he would go. _Ada_, he thinks, despairing.

Tonks closes the book, nods decisively, and points the stick at him. Instinctively, Ele moves. She shakes her head at him and seems disapproving, though he can barely take her eyes off her hair, which has now become brown once again. He could almost convince himself it had been that way all along –

She waves the stick at him and says something else, still entirely unintelligible. And then, suddenly, she isn't.

"Right then, that should last for long enough. So what language is that? It doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard before." Tonks says, smiling broadly at him.  
"What?" Ele says, for it is all he can think of at this moment. "Why can I understand you now?" He says, even more confused. Why does nothing of this strange situation make _sense_?

"It was a spell, silly. It'll only last for about a day, though, so you might want to learn to cast it before then, or have your guardian learn it or something. Or you could just learn English, I guess. By the way, where _is _your guardian? It's awfully negligent of them to just leave you wandering around Diagon Alley." Tonks said.

"But – Are you a – " Ele's mind stuttered on the concept. This woman, and upon looking at her, she couldn't be much older than a child herself, an _Istari_? But clearly she hadn't understood him before, and now she did, and her hair had changed colors... "Wizard?" He finished, wishing there were some other, _logical _explanation.

"What? Of course I am. Well, a witch, at least." She seemed surprised that he would even ask, he noted in disbelief. "Aren't you?" She seemed suddenly suspicious of him.

"Of course not!" Ele exclaimed. "Can't you see that I am an – "

But now he felt as if he might faint, because his ears were round and his hair short.

"I am an – "

He could barely finish the sentence.

"Elf." He choked out.

"What, like a house elf? Are you feeling quite alright?"

"No. No, I am not."  
His breath was beginning to come very fast and he could hear Tonks distantly inquire if he was alright again and everything was _wrong_ and –

With an almost delicate sigh, Elesil toppled to the floor.

~-!-~

When Ele awoke, he kept his eyes closed, the better to pretend the entire situation had just been a dream. But the very air smelled wrong and the surface he laid on was much too soft. He could not explain why he would have such a ridiculous dream, either. Young women who were Istari and himself, inexplicably, a man?

It all seemed much too fantastic for a dream.

But, Ele thought with a wince, better a dream than reality.

He opened his eyes, hoping vaguely his sight would not be as blurred as the day before, but everything remained unclear and he could barely hear anything at all.

"_Hallo_." The old man looks much like Gandalf, and Ele wonders distantly if he is an Istari as well.

"Hallo." He says.

The man takes out a stick like the one the girl – Tonks – had had. Ele does not flinch away this time. Perhaps, he muses, this is a shrunken version of Gandalf's staff, used for lesser magics like moving pictures and speech conversion.

"My name is Dumbledore." The Istari says. "And you, if I am correct, are Harry Potter. My only question – "

Ele interrupts, though he knows he is being terribly impolite. He feels, however, that it is his right, upon finding out that he is a _man _– he does not particularly _mind _men, but he is an _elf _and he does not want to _be _one!

"My name is _Elesil Séregon_ of _Greenwood_!" He says, terribly upset.

"And where is this Greenwood?" Dumbledore says, calmly. Ele wishes he would be upset. Then he would have good reason to be upset himself.

"In Rhovanion!" Dumbledore looks blank. Exceedingly frustrated, Ele says "Of Middle Earth!"

"Do you know where that is in relation to England?" Dumbledore said, still calm.

"Have you not heard of Middle Earth?" The frustration is going away, and Ele is beginning to be afraid.

"No, indeed. This planet is called simply 'Earth'."

"No. No, no, no. Valar, please, help me! I do not wish to be stranded in another realm!" Ele says, nearly hysterical. "I want Ada!"

"Calm down, please, Harry!" Dumbledore, for the first time, sounds a bit riled.

"_My name is not Harry!"_

A wind picks up. Ele has never heard of such things inside a building.

The implication that he has upset this wizard sobers him, and he takes deep breathes to calm himself. The wind peters out.

"I... I am sorry for losing my composure." He stutters out. "It is just that – I have always been called Elesil, or Ele for those that know me, and I am rather – I was just playing with a friend, and suddenly I was here and there were pictures and I seem to be a _human _and everything is _wrong_ – "

"I am sorry as well. I knew you once, when you were very, very, young, before, I suspect, you were taken to another world you now regard as home. Did you say you were once other than a man?"

"Another world?" Ele says, choosing not to focus on his species at the moment.

"I can think of no other explanation. You speak a tongue I do not recognize at all, and you seem unfamiliar with the most basic concepts of this world."

"Do you have elves?" Ele questions abruptly.

"Yes, of course. Bipper, come here, please." Dumbledore says.

A – a _creature _pops into existence, and squeaks something that Ele does not understand. Ele stares in horror. "_That _is an elf?" He asks, thinking longingly of Ada, of all his friends. Of _himself_. He cannot imagine –

"A house elf. Is it not what you expected?" Dumbledore sounds curious.

Ele shakes his head. "No. No, elves are – calm and gracious and tall and beautiful and, and, not like _this_." He gestures violently at the room in general.

"Ah." Dumbledore says graciously. "Did your world have humans?"

"Yes." Ele nods. "But I – " He hesitates. Acknowledging it, perhaps, will make it come true, and he does not wish this at all.

"I was not a man. I was an elf." He says, subdued.

"That would explain things." Dumbledore says, simply. He appears unsurprised. "Would you explain your world?"

"Explain _what_?" Ele asks, for, truly, the task is too monumental for a simple boy.

"Explain... explain what races you have, and of magic, and of the geography, perhaps."

"I... there are elves, of course, like myself and my Ada, Alsaril, who adopted me in my twenty fourth year. Elves are beautiful and live in harmony with nature, unlike men, and dwarves and hobbits and goblins and orcs, who are foul, evil creatures. Men are – shorter than elves, and more crude, and do not listen to the earth. Dwarves are concerned with the earth and often very stubborn, and all are very crude and cruel and have no true appreciation for art of any kind. Hobbits are very short and very simple folk, who hide away. And then there are Istari, of course, like, I suppose, you are. They are very wise and they contain great magic in staffs and they are immortal. Goblins are terrible, terrible creatures, but they're not as bad as orcs. Orcs live just to cause others pain, and have no thoughts beyond cruelty and evilness."

"Did you say your twenty fourth year?" Dumbledore sounds surprised.

"Yes. I am forty four. I forget, you humans live such short lives..." Ele trails off, realizing that this short life will now be his fate, as well. What if he gets back, but he is all shriveled and old and his Ada must watch him die? What if he never goes to Valinor?

"I... see. How long do elves live, I wonder?"

"Oh, we live forever. Unless we die of grief or in battle, or set sail." Ele says distantly, still processing his eventual death. It is terrible to consider.

"Set sail?"

"To Valinor. It is the elves' resting place."

"You do not die?"

"No."

Ele takes a deep breath, and rallies his composure. "And what of this world?" He asks, though he is not sure he truly wants to know.

"We have house elves, the creatures you saw before, and many wizards. They are not, I suspect, the same as your wizards. You, in fact, were born a wizard."

Ele's brain stalls at the concept. He refuses to believe this _Dumbledore_. "How do you know?" He says, amused by the very concept. He, a wizard? A man would be strange enough, but Ele has never wished to wield magic.

"You have... a scar, you see. Your parents were killed by a dark lord..."

Ele laughs. "A dark lord? Interested in me? I am just – "

But he remembers, then, the stories Ada sometimes told him. He had simply appeared from thin air one day, bawling, forehead bleeding. The great mystery of his birth they had all but forgotten, now...

He sits in a silence, for a moment, wishing he was home, wishing he did not need to accept this strange world. Finally, the silences stretches so long it becomes uncomfortable, and, unsure of what else to say, Ele asks, voice trembling, "May I see myself?"  
Dumbledore silently hands him a mirror, seemingly made from the finest _mithril_.

He gasps, and touches his face in disbelief. Ele has never considered himself particularly vain, but he is horrified at his coarse features. They are blunt, and undeniably mannish. His ears are rounded, and his hair has been cropped short and hangs in unruly disorder. He touches his face and tries, in vain, to straighten his hair a bit.

"I... I have... I am not..." Ele stutters into silence, and closes his eyes. He wishes he was back in his world, where life made sense.

"I'm afraid you are." Dumbledore murmurs. Ele turns violently away, and Dumbledore continues. "You were called Harry Potter, son of Lily and James. You were subject of a prophecy, and the dark lord Voldemort marked you as equal when he attempted to kill you. As you can see, he did not succeed, though the spell he used had always worked before. We could find no traces of you afterward, and so the wizarding world assumed you perished in the explosion of your house. You have been celebrated as a hero ever since."

"Why... why me?" Ele's voice shakes. He has never been particularly special. A mysterious elfling, yes, but nothing like _this_. A wizard. His mind seems to scream at him, some of it focusing on the present moment and the rest confused and upset still about the general crisis he has found himself in. There is a cacophony inside his head. Is this what being a man is like, Ele wonders? If so, he wishes again to be an elf. His senses are blunted but his own mind, usually a place of calm, seems too loud.

"Because," Dumbledore says gently, "You have a destiny here, Elesil. I would not wish this on anyone, much less a child, but it is true."

"I... I do not want..." But this is not about what he _wants_, Ele realizes suddenly. He remembers the stories he has been told half his life, of the great heroes of men and elves, of how they had been compelled to act despite how great their tasks were.

He gives in to this strange world. If he is to be trapped here, then he will not sit by and cower in a corner. He will fight, like his Ada would. "What must I do?"

Dumbledore smiles gently. "First, I think, you will have to learn the language..."


	3. Chapter 3

_Note: I changed elf aging back to four times as fast, as it was in my initial draft, because the change made it seem inappropriate that Harry was still a kid._

_Other note: the formatting got super messed up, for some reason. Hopefully fixed now._

_Other other note: I think, after every ten reviews*, I will promise to have a chapter out within a week. This is not to bribe you for reviews, but because I am not very good at consistent updating. I've decided I would like to change that with this story, so it gives me something like a schedule. Chapters may still happen __before____ then, but they will definitely happen __by ____then.__  
*may be adjusted later if this story gets super popular or super unpopular. Basically, a number that's pretty high and will take a while to reach after the chapter's posted, but not so high it wouldn't be reached for forever._

* * *

It has been several months since his arrival in this strange world, and Ele has not grown any more fond of it. The language still seems harsh and grating, and though it is less so than what little Khuzdul he knows and roughly equal to Westron, he hates it because it is of this world. His own body is too short, too stocky, too _mannish_, and it annoys him to no end when he missteps because he has underestimated the length of his legs. They will not allow him any proper weapons and he did not bring any with him, and they refuse him his comfortable elvishclothes. Even though his proper clothes barely fit his new, ugly body, he still resents the dress they replace it with_, _which he cannot move in at all. They give him a strange object, which they call _glasses_, to sit upon his nose, and while they do help correct his vision, he wishes his vision were not blurry at all and it is still not as it should be, to say nothing of his other senses. He can barely hear the trees when he ventures to the edge of the forest.

In short, Ele is miserable. It is made no better by the fact that he residing in a very, very empty castle. To one used to the trees and the company of any number of elves, the building is practically intolerable. Only Dumbledore lives with him over the hot days, beyond portraits that talk, staircases that move, empty suits of armor that act much like real, if soulless, warriors, and, worst of all, _ghosts_.

Ele shudders. The ghosts are friendly enough, but that almost makes it worse. Clearly this is a place of magic, but of a very strange kind. Ele does not like it at all. He does not look forward to the day he will be asked to wield it, but the day draws ever nearer.

Just the day he arrived here, he got a strange letter he could not read yet. Dumbledore said it was his acceptance letter to Hogwarts, the school Dumbledore led. Ele had always enjoyed lessons, but a school of magic, full of _young _Istari, of which he himself is, was not an enjoyable thought.

Now they are to head back to that noisy, cramped alley he first arrived in, which is not a pleasant thought, either. Ele has been growing his hair out, for right now it is entirely too messy and entirely too short. Indeed, he had hardly known any race but perhaps the hobbits who often cut their hair so short, and he does not want to be mistaken for a hobbit, even though he knows there is no chance of that, in this strange world where goblins are merchants of money and elves are servants. He shudders. He still cannot stand to look at the race this world calls _elves_, and he is not looking forward to meeting goblins. He has not seen them before, but he has heard stories...

The technology, too, bewilders him. They go to the bathroom indoors, which seems terribly unsanitary and unnatural, but Dumbledore tells him that is simply the way things are done here and he must live with it, now.

Dumbledore apparateshim back to the alley when he arrives, sulkily, in his office, having bypassed the stone gollum easily with the password Dumbledore had given him earlier. The older wizard does not even offer a greeting before they apparate, leaving Ele nauseous and sick to his stomach. Even referring to him again as Harry Potterwould be better than this injustice.

But then again, perhaps not, Ele thinks, staring glumly at the crowds. He has seen the attention some strangers lavish his Ada with when they visit, and it is never anything he had really wished to experience for himself; though he gets some attention, most respect that he is still an elfling. This is frustrating at times, but it is better, he thinks, than being famous. But he is famoushere. They think him dead, but if it gets out that he is truly alive, that only makes it worse_. _

"To Gringotts first, I think. As long as I am accompanying you, I have a package to fetch." Dumbledore says.

They approach the the ostentatious and gaudy pillars. Nothing at all like Greenwood, Ele thinks wistfully.

"Hallo, Ellee-sill!"

It is the girl – _Tonks,_ he recalls – he first met here. Her hair is pink once again. Dumbledore has told him that not all wizards or witches can do this, that she is special – and then he had said she was a very long word that Ele could not remember just now. He is grateful, at least, that no others will suddenly change their hair, though he would almost like the ability for himself. He could change his features back to normal, fix his hair, perhaps even make his ears right again –

He distantly realizes he should probably respond.

"Hallo, Tonks."

She says something else, very complicated and too fast for him to understand. He turns towards Dumbledore desperately. He thought he had cast the spell that allowed him to understand this morning, and indeed he had understood Dumbledore earlier... was it wearing off, or wearing out with too much use? Ele has no idea how such things work here.

"I'm sorry, but this spell is less effective the less the castor knows the person speaking, and it will be similarly hard for them to understand you. There are more comprehensive, exact language spells, but they have dangers. Often they leave you unable to comprehend your original language, and sometimes they leave you bereft of language skills at all. It is often better to learn without magic." Dumbledore explains.

"Oh. What did she say, then?" Ele asks.  
"Only if you were feeling better, and how had you been, and what I am doing with you. Young Tonks, I am sure you have heard all that, judging from the puzzled expression on your face. Elesil is from a distant land, and he was unexpectedly sent here by magic. He has been separated from his guardians, and as he has no connections in this area, I decided to take him in until we can find a way to send him back to his own realm. It was very complicated, old magic, you see. In the meantime he will be attending Hogwarts."

She smiles brightly at him and jabbers away in her own tongue. Ele smiles tentatively back, catching a few words, but not enough to really understand. She is very loud, he thinks, and much too boisterous, but somehow he finds himself liking her.

"What did she say?" He asks Dumbledore.

"Tonks just graduated Hogwarts last year. She is assuring you that it is a very nice school."

Ele grimaces, and Tonks laughs. Ele cannot help but smile a little, at that. She has a very nice laugh, though it reminds him a bit of a hog's snorts. It makes him want to laugh himself. He thinks, wistfully, of Laranë. She had a beautiful, tinkling laugh.

She says something else, shorter this time, but very quick. He looks at Dumbledore pleadingly.

Dumbledore smiles. "She said, 'shall we?'" He translates. Ele's lips quirk upwards, a little, at Tonks, and she accompanies them through the ornate pillars, and then waves goodbye.

"I have to go get my schoolbooks," she explains, slowly, and he understands it all.  
"Bye." Ele says, smiling.

Ele does not like the goblins very much.

He knows they are not like Middle-Earth goblins, but they still look pinched and mean and he does not like them, nor does he understand them. He glowers till they get to the very rickety-looking cart he is supposed to ride in.

Ele has been climbing trees his entire life, and the branches can get quite thin, but this is different.

"Do we have to ride in _that_?" He asks Dumbledore petulantly, shying away.

"I'm afraid there's no other way down." Dumbledore says, mirthful. Ele pouts but reluctantly climbs in.

Afterwards, Ele stubbornly refuses to acknowledge how much he'd enjoyed the ride, though Dumbledore's eyes twinkled knowingly. It had been exhilarating and fun and for a moment he had even forgotten about where he was.

But now it's again painfully clear. The place they are in is claustrophobic and dirty, and Ele shivers. The unpleasant goblin that scowled at him the whole way down how opens an almost hidden door in the wall and suddenly all Ele can see is a huge pile of gold, taller than his new mannish form. Stunned, he enters the cavern – for it cannot really be called a room – and wonders at this strange world. Dumbledore had not mentioned that he was a prince here, too, and yet this room seems equal to Greenwood's hidden vaults, which Ele has seen only once. All his? The thought it ridiculous, insane. How could he ever use this much gold?

"The gold ones are galleons," Dumbledore says, holding up a huge coin, "the silver are sickles, and the bronze coins are knuts. There are 29 knuts to a sickle and 17 sickles a galleon. I'd advise you not to spend it all at once." He smiled kindly, and hands Ele a pouch.

Still overwhelmed, Ele picks up galleons one by one, but after about a minute of this he resorts to shoveling indiscriminate handfuls into the pouch. It is the most money he has ever had in his life.  
"Shall we go?" Dumbledore says.  
Ele nods, scanning the room. He would like to come back, and see if it is like his Ada's vault in other ways: if it has other treasures than this pile of coins. But for now he has had quite enough of this dark cavern.  
~!=!~!=!~

After a brief wait in the lobby of Gringotts, Ele and Dumbledore are off to get their robes, a largely boring an uncomfortable affair. In quick succession, Dumbledore helps Ele pick up his books (Ele only wishes to understand the language; many of the covers seem fascinating), his potion supplies (which seem slightly gross), a cauldron, scales, a telescope, and a case in which to hold it all, which Dumbledore enchants with a lightening charm. "It won't last forever," He warns, "but for now it will be useful." They pass a strange shop selling brooms that are floating, and then visit a 'sweet shop'. Dumbledore insists on buying an assortment of the 'candies', though when Ele tastes one, it is ridiculously sugary, and he can't think why anyone would want so many. It almost makes him sick – it tastes good, perhaps, but it is simply too much, and he thinks with longing of food back home. He hasn't enjoyed a meal yet.

Finally, Dumbledore says, "I do believe that every student should have a pet. Have you had a pet before?"  
"What is a pet?" Ele says absently.  
"An animal that one keeps and takes care of." Dumbledore answers. "The most common at Hogwarts are owls, which carry letters, cats, and toads."  
"Oh." Ele considers. "My horse, Luril. Would she count?" He misses her suddenly, her tan flanks, calming to rub down, and the way she felt under him as he galloped, his Ada ahead, laughing as they raced. But if he thinks about his Ada he will cry, so he shuts the thought away. He will not be a child in front of all these strange men. He will _not_. He will not think of the wind in his hair, dodging trees with expert skill...  
"Yes, probably." Dumbledore interrupts, and Ele is grateful. He nods brusquely and pulls open the door.

The shopkeeper says something incomprehensible. Ele smiles in his direction and sorts through the bewildering mix of sounds; he cannot identify half of the noises he hears. Owls and cats and toads are evident en masse, indeed, but also snakes, brightly-colored birds he doesn't recognize, even insects and fish. These seem ridiculous: What could you do with a spider, a fish? But perhaps there is some reason he does not recognize behind these strange animals.

He walks around the shop slowly, trying to ignore the noise and the smell. Dumbledore follows silently. He is by the snakes and the toads when he hears a stranger sound than the hoots and hisses of the rest of the shop. "Stupid humans," a high, feminine voice says in Nandorin.

"What?" He replies, shocked.

"You speak?" The voice, amazingly, is coming from a small, bright blue snake, in a cage near the floor. This sentiment is echoed by the rest of the snakes in the store, a strange but beautiful sound against the cacophony of the rest of the store.

"I..." Ele can barely think. _Snakes_ can speak Nandorin, though nothing else can? This world, already ridiculous, seems more and more impossible by the day. Perhaps the translation spell somehow works on snakes, as well?

"A parselmouth?" Dumbledore whispers, sounding shocked himself. "Ele... oh, no."

"What?" Ele says, scared and frustrated. "What is going on?"

"It is... nothing. Simply a very rare talent. You are speaking to the snakes in their own language. Perhaps you should buy a snake, in light of this discovery."  
Ele thinks of being able to hear Nandorin every day, and smiles. "Yes... yes, I think I will." He examines the snakes, who all seem to wish to be taken away from the shop, but find none he likes half so well as the little blue snake who spoke first and has remained silent since. "Her, I think." He says, finally. She hisses happily, in wordless pleasure.

Dumbledore smiles. "Very well, then. One last stop, after we have paid for your new pet."

~$*#*$~

The last place they visit, Dumbledore tells him as they walk, is Ollivander's, for his wand. Wands, as Ele guessed, are a type of miniature staff, and as he walks he tries not to think of how all this is leading to becoming a wizard, how he is no longer an elf. The snake, still nameless, is a comforting weight around his wrist, but she does not say anything and Ele cannot decide if he is glad or not.

Even the entrance seems worn down, a single wand displayed, and when the wandmaker enters Ele can barely understand a word he says. "Sit down," He finally catches, and so he does. A strange, hovering device is held against all different parts of his body, and finally the man, eyes unnaturally huge and pale, hands him a stick. Uncertainly, Ele waves it, and the man snatches it back, saying something Ele cannot understand. It seems to take ages, the waves sparking a strange, wrong feeling and creating whirlwinds of chaos throughout the shop, before the man bustles away for longer than before and reappears, almost reverent, with a new stick. It seems no different than the last, but when he waves it he can feel his Ada's embrace, and a small, golden plant grows where he pointed the wand. The wandmaker smiles and babbles on, and Ele cannot help but smile, too, until he remembers where he is again and is lost to despair.  
"Silly man," Hisses the snake, squeezing more tightly around his wrist, and that helps, a bit. Ele smiles politely and retreats, Dumbledore saying something Ele does not care to listen to to the man.

He has a trunk full of supplies, a new friend, and a strange wand, and all he wants is to go home again. Ele is tired, and the longer he spends in the strange world, the less he likes it. He is glad for his snake and the small seedling and perhaps even Tonks, but he just wants to go home, to Ada, to Larane, to the quiet of his favorite tree.

Dumbledore rejoins him. "That wand contains a feather from my phoenix, Fawkes, who gave one other feather, which, as it happens, chose Voldemort." Dumbledore looks very sad, and very old, and Ele does not understand why. He nods in acceptance. "Are we done?" He asks.

Dumbledore smiles tiredly. "Yes, Ele. We may go."

~* *~  
Ele falls onto his makeshift bed, and sleeps.

He dreams of snakes, and wands, and Greenwood.


End file.
